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It’s week seven of the Lawrence trimester, which means most of us are recovering from several days of grueling midterm exams, papers and presentations. If you’re not too sleep-deprived to read this article, consider yourself blessed. The past week has been a wild ride.
Every time I get sucked into the chaos of midterms or finals, two words roll around in the back of my head: “self” and “care.” They should provide comfort, a gentle reminder that your wellbeing matters more than academic success. But instead, they make me want to crawl under my desk.
Look, I would love to pretend that I consistently get eight hours of sleep, eat three nutritious meals a day and schedule nightly journaling sessions to unpack any interesting philosophical thoughts that crossed my mind throughout the day. But let’s be honest: most of the time, I am running on coffee and sheer willpower. No matter how many color-coded calendars and to-do list apps I try, I continue riding recklessly over every principle of healthy living.
Self-care culture is supposed to encourage people to live their best lives. But in recent years, it’s spiraled into a vicious competition that only makes people feel worse about themselves. We have started treating self-care as a measure of responsibility, respectability and self-esteem, and we hold ourselves and others to unreasonable standards.
Firstly, the pop-culture definition of self-care is rooted in capitalism and classism. As much as I’d love to buy myself a boba, a Funko Pop and a new pair of Converse every time I’m stressed, there’s no way I can afford that lifestyle. I enjoy treating myself to nice things when I can, but if my sanity depended strictly on my financial status, I’d be a Victorian lady in the madhouse.
Secondly, self-care is time-consuming! It’s easy for people to say, “Everybody can practice self-care as long as you make time for it!” But as much as we want to imagine we are the supreme leaders of our own lives, many things in life are simply out of our control. Sometimes, our lives just get overwhelming and there’s nothing we can do about it. Hang on, let me just tell my grandpa that he isn’t allowed to break his hip outside of my regularly scheduled “medical emergency” hours. While we’re at it, I’ll quit my job, drop out of college, and pay for my existence with my flawless state of mind. Believe me, I’d love to abolish this capitalist state where we’re only valued for our labor, but in this economy, it is not always possible to prioritize self-care over essential work.
Thirdly, self-care is often a chore. While TikTok influencers might try to convince you that self-care consists of an avocado mask and a manicure, I’ve found that the most crucial self-care is the mundane stuff. Showering. Laundry. Therapy. We dismiss these things as everyday tasks, but they still consume the time and energy we would rather spend on fun activities.
Furthermore, setting up a rigorous self-care regimen only prepares us for disappointment. As college students, we’re supposed to be developing into self-sufficient adults, and our ability to take care of ourselves is used as a barometer for our maturity. With this attitude, our proficiency at self-care can easily become tied up with our self-worth and confidence in our own autonomy. When I’m yawning in class because I managed my time poorly last night and had to stay up until 2 a.m. to finish my homework, I can’t help thinking that this is a sign that I’m failing at being an adult.
This issue is particularly prevalent at Lawrence. From the moment I set foot on campus, professors and students alike warned me about the Lawrence Busy, this strange monster that consumes ambitious but naïve little first-years and turns them into soulless machines. While it’s important to encourage balanced living, the stigma around the Lawrence Busy has become stifling. Lately, I’ve found that most of my anxiety surrounding my busy schedule has nothing to do with being tired or stressed—it’s the fear of the judgment that comes when people realize you’ve fallen prey to the Lawrence Busy. It’s the guilt of knowing that you inadvertently did the one thing everyone older and wiser than you warned you not to do.
Finally, the concept of self-care itself often places the burden of wellbeing on individuals, rather than society as a whole. Instead of forcing people to excel at self-care, why don’t we deconstruct the exploitative systems that stress us out in the first place? We cannot evolve beyond the limits of self-care culture until we fix the capitalist structures that constantly squeeze us dry.